Mystery at the Bookstore
by xxallisonxx
Summary: "It's not just leaving my family and friends. It's the thought of leaving what has been your whole life. But, at the same time it's exciting to start a whole new life."-Aerial Gregston.  Made for a B&N 'mystery' challenge on the Coast.


'There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state to another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life.'

-Alexandre Dumas

The smell of brewing coffee wafted over as I slouched against the counter. It was Saturday night, and I was watching as late-night shoppers were finishing up their last minute purchases. There were only a few stragglers left now, evaluating what they were considering to buy. I would've gouged their indecisive eyes out by now if my best friend, Erica, had not been there. This was her usual shift; my own was usually during the week, but I had been asked to step in for one of Erica's co-worker. I was going to decline their offer, but Erica was so adamant that I accept that she so graciously accepted _for_ me.

So here I sat at eight at night, just watching elderly women pick out which gifts would suit their grandchildren best. I gave out a sigh and rested my chin on my hand. It was still another hour until I could leave to go home.

I was contemplating suicide when someone rushed up behind me and fortuitously grabbed my shoulders. An intake of breath and the biting of a hand later, Erica sat herself on top of the counter, rubbing her wounded hand, but still laughing at my startled reaction.

"Surprise!" she screamed at me once she stopped laughing.

"Haha, very funny, Erica," I said sarcastically, angrily blowing the hair out of my eyes that had unceremoniously crept its way into my vision when I was attacked, "but you'd do better to be careful; the superintendent is still evaluating us."

Erica just walked around the register, sat on one of the couches and gave me a triumphant smirk. I was about to retaliate when the tinkling sound of the entrance bell sprang to life, signaling the arrival of another customer, a man.

"Great," I mumbled indignantly to myself under my breath, "another customer. I'm going to be here all night!"

He walked in with a black hoodie concealing most of his face. I could only see a sliver, but in that much I could tell that he was Caucasian. I walked over to Erica's side where she was lounging on the couch; he was walking in her direction.

He passed by us with an aloof manner, not seeming to notice us. His hands were twitching like he was trying to play a grand masterpiece on the piano. They danced their way up his leg in G major and serenaded back down his leg in a fluid D major. He stared only at the unchanging carpet as he walked and mumbled to himself as he went. I strained my ears to the best of their abilities to hear this stranger talk. He fascinated me in a way that no one had ever done before in which his mystique begged my senses for more to see. I wanted to drink in his complexion because somehow I already knew that it would be stunning in either a worst or best case scenario. It was like he brought out an instinct in me that ravaged my mind, silenced my voice, brought my hearing tumbling clumsily to the ground, and petrified my muscles to a cessation.

I watched him walk until he finally sat down in a chair across from the elderly women, who promptly took that time to agree on a gift to buy and were rushing towards the register hastily. I walked back around the counter, keeping my eyes on the stranger the entire time.

I rang up their purchases, activity books on potty training, and gave them their bag with a sincerely bright smile and said, "Have a nice night," without a slight drip of sarcasm; I was just glad that they finally left, another advantage of the mysterious stranger, and it made me smile to myself.

Erica must've seen the smile because she flounced over and said slyly, "He's a regular, you know?"

"Hmm," I said, "what's his name?"

She gave me a melancholy look before she answered, but said, "I'm not sure. He never talks, just walks around with the hood over his face."

I was deciding whether to go over and talk to him or to just stay happily where I was when it happened. I wasn't completely sure what was happening at first, but after the second and third shots were fired, I realized that we were now the sudden victims of a sudden shooting, and by the looks of it, involuntary hostages. To top it all off on that wonderful night, of course the shooter was the infamous mystery man that apparently everyone but me knew.

He was standing on top of his chair, gun in hand, with his hood still pulled over his face, but he began to talk. At first it was rushed, but as he continued, it started delaying like he was waiting for someone to feed him lines like a mediocre actor.

His voice was almost exactly as I imagined. It was dark and sensual- dangerous. It was like liquid sex with its addictive qualities, and I was its own personal nymph. It wasn't until he pointed specifically at me that I started actually hearing what he was saying instead of droning it out. Darn selective hearing.

"Bring them to the back, I said!" he shouted. He didn't look angry from what little features I could see. His voice was a steady cool without faulting or cracking, except for the pauses; he obviously wasn't nervous, no ruffled feathers on his personality in sight.

As he talked, I saw his eyes while his hood had momentarily lapsed in coverage. They were a quick-flash gray, like a puddle of glimmering silver shining under a golden sun.

I steered the remaining customers into the book storage. It definitely hadn't been used by the musty smell and the size of the spider webs stashed in each corner.

My body gave an involuntary shiver as he slammed the door closed with a terminating SNAP. I tried to take control to see who we were missing, but no one would stay still. In what little room we had, they seemed to minimize the space even more than it already was. I finally took note of the fact that we were missing three people. I could only persistently hope that they would be intelligent enough to keep their mouths closed and sneak out to get help.

There was a scream, a shot, and an enormous thump. I gulped as I realized that the scream had ripped from the voice of our superintendent. A sweat started to break out on my wrists and forehead as I also realized that footsteps were steadily coming closer.

He pulled the door open completely, letting in enough bright light to make me need to squint my eyes. As soon as my eyes adjusted, I looked passed his towering figure to see that my prognosis was correct: the superintendent was shot. Her long blonde hair had fallen over her face as blood steadily dripped out of her left temple and out of her mouth.

He pulled me by my wrist and turned me to walk with him. Startled, I looked back to see the terror-stricken look on her face. Her usually beautiful looks were contorted into severe anxiety and fear. There were tears rolling down her cheek that I suspected were her premonitions about what he was about to do to me, much like he did to the superintendent.

Much to my surprise, he sat me down in a comfortable-looking chair and pulled the hood off, revealing to me his face.

He had white blonde hair and pale skin. His silvery eyes shone like a diamond and chrome mixture. He was very diverse in appearance to what mine was: ebony hair, olive skin, deep brown eyes- we were complete opposites.

He smiled, even as the blood continued to drizzle down a dead woman's face and ten frightened people were hoarded together in a supply closet fit for two, he smiled a sincere smile.

He opened his mouth to talk, revealing straight, whitened teeth, and said, "Sister, I found you."

I woke up from my dream- nightmare- on the couch of the bookstore. I felt a searing pain in my leg as I started coming back into consciousness. Erica came into view as my eyes cleared of its previous deposits of sleep dissolved.

"Wake up," she was saying, "wake up, Andrea."

At first, because of my nightmare, I thought he'd shot me and that I was bleeding to death. That might explain the terrible pain I felt in my leg, but once I sat up, I realized that everything was happening as it was had- people were shopping, women were gossiping; it was an average Saturday night.

An omniscient bell and chimes flew through the store and reminded me of my nightmare. My head flew in the direction of the entrance door to see a very familiar hooded figure walk into the store.

He walked passed us and smiled at me, like the smile that had chilled my marrow to dust, silver dust, not five minutes ago. Thoughts buzzed in my head as I watched him. I watched him sit down in a comfortable chair.

"No," I said to myself.

"What was that?" Erica asked, oblivious as to what was about to happen.

He flipped through a magazine as the elderly women fled.

"This can't be happening," I whispered. Things were in sync with my dream far too closely for comfort.

It was only once he reached into his jacket pocket that I had the instinct to move towards the exit. A fire was shot as a macabre voice rasped out, "Oh, sister. . ."


End file.
